


dear shakespeare: could you write a happy ending, please?

by lizwillstealyourgirl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: :) lov, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Coming Out, Dialogue Light, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Gay Richie Tozier, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, No Plot/Plotless, Not IT Chapter Two Compliant, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, The Losers Club (IT) Love Each Other, its just a bad one, well there's a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2020-11-23 01:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizwillstealyourgirl/pseuds/lizwillstealyourgirl
Summary: Richie kisses Eddie once he wakes up from the deadlights. He can't bring himself to regret it, though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to this it chapter 2 fix it fic, written by someone who hasn't seen it chapter 2! (i know like. Spoilers. but i ultimately have decided not to watch it for now because the arcade scene will rip my heart out and eddie's ***** will fuck me up! so while i know what happens idk the Step by Step process for Defeating The Clown. so just.... know thats why this is lil goofy)
> 
> you're probably thinking: liz. you did this like two weeks ago. you can't just write new fics when you have ones left unfinished. go finish your "midtown school of science and technology" text fic, or "you want a garden", or even publish that sequel for "conversations from a couch" you promised us a few weeks ago.
> 
> well, u rite. i should prolly write for my other fics. find me on tumblr and help me with "you want a garden", marvel stans! anyway. enjoy some reddie because fuck canon

When Richie sees Eddie for the first time since high school graduation, he remembers everything.

It’s pretty weird, honestly. To be struck in the face with all the memories he’d lost touch with. For a long time, there was this gaping hole in his head where his childhood used to be, for over 20 years, Richie could only remember foggy bits and pieces. His mother and father were named Maggie and Wentworth. He was never abused, but it was the 80s and 90s, so he wasn’t exactly coddled either. His parents worked a lot, so he could, as an adult, almost remember being home alone most of the time. It’s just that he was never sure if anything he remembered from his childhood was a memory, or something he conjured up to fill in the empty spaces.

And then Mike calls Richie. Mike calls them all, actually, and immediately, Richie remembers. Mike Hanlon.  _ Of course _ , he muses.  _ How could I forget Mike? The farmer kid. So smart, such a nice kid. The only black kid in Derry. People used to be so horrible to him. Something with his parents? _ Richie, for the life of him, can’t remember how they met or why they were friends or what they did in their free time together, but he hears Mike say it —  _ Richie Tozier? This is Mike Hanlon  _ — and just like he can remember Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, he can remember Mike too.

Walking into the town of Derry for the first time in 20-something years was, by far, the strangest experience of Richie’s entire life. Nothing seems to come back to him, at least, nothing of  _ substance.  _ He walks through the library and thinks,  _ oh yeah, the town library; _ by the pharmacy, and the ice cream store feels familiar in the way some things from a long time ago often do (not that Richie has any experience with that, since he could, until now, think back no further than the day he moved into his freshman dorm); he even sees a bridge, letters carved in the wood planks along the side, and hears himself saying,  _ the kissing bridge, sure _ , although he has no idea why.

At some point, he finds Mike. Then, he finds Eddie. Then, he remembers everything.

Once upon a time, Eddie Kaspbrak was a _part_ of Richie. Richie had, in his youth, buried his feelings for Eddie so deep they grew like weeds in his guts, and became a fundamental piece of Richard Wentworth Tozier. Loving Eddie came as naturally to Richie as breathing in oxygen and out carbon dioxide. Somehow, he’d forgotten that to be in love with Eddie Kaspbrak was to register his own heart beating in his chest, to know that he was real, _to_ _feel_ _alive_. How had he forgotten?

Richie sees Eddie. He doesn’t even need to make eye contact with the guy. He just sees  _ him _ , that chronically down-turned mouth and his stupid scrunched-up nose and like a slap across the face, and Richie knows:  _ I’m in love with him _ . He can’t explain how he knew that, why he believed it was true, any of it — all he knows was, from deep, deep below the innermost parts of Richie, that this boy (well, man, now) that stands in front of him had always and forever been The One.

At first, Richie wonders if he actually felt this way as a kid, or if he was really just projecting, since he’s now just a lonely, repressed, so-far-in-the-closet-he-can’t-even-say-gay gay man. And then Richie sucks in a breath of cold air, and that feeling — that incessant, horrible, beautiful, familiar dull ache in Richie’s chest, a distant throb that moved in sync with the thumping of Richie’s sullen heart — doesn’t change. He isn’t projecting. He knows it by the way he blinks and sees Eddie’s younger self, fresh-faced and pink-cheeked and high-strung, in the shadows of the  _ now; _ knows it by the way Eddie bites his knuckles to hide a smile whenever Richie says something particularly unfunny, and how  _ your mom _ jokes suddenly feel less like hands wrapped tightly around his neck and more like hammocks and quarries and bicycle-riding underneath the summer sunset.

He remembers Eddie. All of a sudden, a hole he hadn’t even known existed — a gaping, widening gyre, which was so large Richie couldn’t see past it, so wide that it’s all he ever was,  _ empty _ — is filled. Richie gets to have Eddie again. He gets to  _ love _ Eddie again. Despite all of his successes, Richie is positive that  _ In Love With Eddie Kaspbrak  _ is the most important thing about him, and he’d do anything to get back all those years that had circled down the drain if only to remember Eddie some more.

And then he loses Eddie. He should’ve expected it, really, because why would he ever be so lucky to hold onto something so  _ good?  _ Richie doesn’t deserve a true love like that.  _ (Besides,  _ Richie tries to tell himself, in the hours before they descended into the sewer.  _ All the best love stories end in tragedy. I’ll die, and then Eddie will live on in my honor, never knowing that everything I ever did, I did for him.) _

It ends up being fake. Deadlights. Like Beverly. But it felt... _ real _ . Even reality afterwards doesn’t feel as real as the deadlights had. In the deadlights, Richie heard things, smelled things, felt things,  _ saw things _ . In ‘real life’, in the aftermath of the deadlights visions, everything seems duller. How could a duller world be the real one? How could a happy ending be true? How dare Richie trick himself into believing that God could be so kind, to give Richie a second (or third, really) chance to fall in love?

* * *

_ “I did it, Richie,” Eddie says, bouncing on Richie with the energy of their middle school selves. “I killed It.” _

** _No, _ ** _ Richie wants to scream.  _ ** _You couldn’t have. It’s not dead. It feels so alive. _ ** _ Instead, he says nothing. Instead, just as he opens his mouth to respond, Eddie jolts. Sits up straight. Slowly, like he’s stuck in quicksand, looks down at his stomach. _

_ Something of It’s, a fang or claw or knife or something, is speared through Eddie’s chest. It curves upwards, almost brushing up against his chin. If It were to pull up, he would fling Eddie across the room. Richie stares in horror.  _ ** _No,_ ** _ he cries, although no words come out. _ ** _ Please. Not him._ **

_ The Losers have to drag Richie out. He sobs the whole way. He can’t live without Eddie. Not anymore. Please. Not him. Take me. Anyone but him. _

_ One day, he will make it back to the kissing bridge, to carve their initials in — R + E — if only to hold onto that shred of hope he kept so tightly tucked against his chest as a younger boy. Until then, he will remain heartbroken, only scraps of faded memories left to keep Eddie from rotting with the house on Neibolt. _

_“I love him,”_ _Richie tells the Losers._

_ But they already know. _

* * *

Richie doesn’t shake himself free of the deadlights’ hold until Eddie’s hands find their way to his shoulders and push at him violently. He wakes with a start, eyes wrenching themselves open and flinging his body up to sit. He looks at Eddie with such unbridled joy, and Eddie looks back at him in just the same way, and Richie wonders if his 13 year old self would’ve been ashamed.  _ Fuck you _ , he thinks.  _ It’s 2016. People are gay now. People always have been. Grow up, Young Richie _ .

They walk forward a step or two, but Richie freezes. He throws a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck. “C’mon, Richie,” Eddie says. “It’s time to go. Kill the clown time. Let’s get a fucking move on.”

Richie can’t care less about the fucking clown. For the first time in his stupid life, he feels fucking  _ brave _ . He just watches Eddie die, and he actually isn’t sure if it was real and if the live-Eddie that consequently followed is a coping mechanism to deal with the love of his life’s death, but he’s absolutely fucking  _ positive _ he wouldn’t let Eddie die again without kissing him.

“Richie,” Eddie repeats, voice a little quieter now. The other Losers all look at them, but pretend they aren’t watching. Stanley, Bill, Beverly, Ben, and Mike — all of them. Richie’s family. Richie’s  _ friends. _ Joined together to kill some fucking clown.

“Richie,” Eddie says a third time, and it was actually getting really annoying, so Richie rolls his eyes and uses the hand wrapped around Eddie’s neck to pull him down and press their lips together.

_ Fuck you, Pennywise _ , Richie thinks.  _ I’m not afraid of you anymore. You can’t use it against me if I’m not ashamed of it. It’s not my fucking dirty little secret _ .

If Richie thinks  _ loving  _ the guy came naturally, boy, was he in for a surprise. Kissing Eddie feels like nothing and everything all at once. A puzzle piece clicking into place. Coming home. Riding a bike. Learning to walk. Running away. All the cheesiest shit he would never admit out loud. And even though it feels like the best thing he’ll ever do, Richie pulls away as quickly as he’d come. Eddie’s eyes are still shut, his jaw hanging loosely and mouth lazily open. He blinks back into the waking world, eyelids fluttering so uncharacteristically  _ softly _ he has Richie’s guts churning inside his stomach. Richie clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says, voice a bit rough as he hadn’t said a word since before the deadlights even happened.

He isn’t all that sorry anyway. Richie wishes he could push him away, rewind, start over — but more so, he wishes he could  _ want _ that. Richie is selfish. The feeling of Eddie’s lips against his is one of those feelings he could never regret getting to have, even if Eddie would never look at him the same. If this is Richie’s last chance to kiss Eddie, then  _ fuck it _ . He’ll make it worth his while.

Eddie shakes his head and furrows his brow. “It’s - I - you - I mean-”

“Okay, Bill Denbrough, thanks for your contribution,” Richie retorts. A million pounds of fear shift off his shoulders when Eddie throws down a punch against Richie’s arm.

“Fuck you, Trashmouth,” Eddie says. Richie hadn’t known love before him, and he won’t ever know another one.

* * *

The Losers Club grabs them and pulls them apart, into the sewer and away from the fleeting moment of Richie and Eddie being  _ RichieandEddie _ . Richie wants to feel that way again, over and over and over, until they die of old age; two sad sacks, with saggy cheeks and half-rotted teeth sitting on a rocking chair beneath the sunny California sky.

But then Richie almost dies. He wonders if Eddie feels the same way there that he did when he saw Eddie dying — like he was losing the bigger, the  _ best _ part of him. He has a feeling Eddie does not, and yet, he doesn’t give a shit.

More things happen. It’s all a blur. The only concrete thing in Richie’s mind now is  _ EddieEddieEddieEddie _ , his chapped lips and bad breath and sweaty hands and how fucking perfect he is. 

They make their way to the quarry, like one last middle finger to the town of Derry, and Stanley jumps in first. He deserves it. He has a million reasons to throw a  _ fuck you _ to their old town. Richie would’ve done it for Stanley if he hadn’t been so sure the guy was capable of it.

Mike follows.  _ Finally,  _ Richie thinks,  _ he’s free. _ There is a gooey, achy-breaky part of him that wants to smash Stanley and Mike’s faces together and hold them there until Stanley admits his childhood crush. Richie holds off, knowing all too well how it feels to fall back in love with someone you forgot you ever knew.

Bill goes next. Maybe he can finally write a good fucking ending, now that Derry is gone. Richie would read some of his shit if he stopped killing everyone in the end.

Ben and Beverly go together, because  _ of course they do. _ Ben had always loved her, and Beverly had always loved him, even when they forgot about each other.  _ January embers.  _ Richie read the poem. It was cutesy, poetic bullshit, but  _ fuck _ if he doesn’t know  _ exactly _ what Ben had felt.

Eddie turns to Richie. Richie wants to run away so,  _ so  _ badly. He wants to disappear and to stop  _ pretending _ . He is in love with Eddie.  _ Richie _ is  _ in love _ with  _ Eddie _ . Since they were 9, two fourth grade losers bumping into each other on the schoolyard while running away from bullies; since they were 13, a couple of assholes chasing down a killer clown that fed on little kids; since they were 17, high school seniors trying to escape Buttfuck, Maine. Maybe even in those empty years, when Richie couldn’t remember Eddie’s name, let alone all the little things — the red shorts he always wore, the pink polo Richie loved to hold onto, how his hair curled and frizzed whenever it got wet and the acne that sprouted on his chin during the summertime; maybe even then, Richie loved Eddie.

Eddie turns to Richie. It takes a moment for Richie to focus on the warm brown eyes staring up at him. Eddie’s eyes had always been so doe-like and captivating. In the afternoon sun, freckles scattered across his cheeks, just like they used to when they were kids, and Richie has to blink a few times to come back to Earth — away from the perfect fantasyland he created in his mind where Eddie loved him too.

Eddie smiles. “Together?” he asks. They never used to jump together. They used to be scaredy cats, too afraid to jump in first but too prideful to back down. They never used to jump together, but Richie, with his stupid, lovesick brain, thinks that maybe this time — this second or third time around — things could be different. He nods, expecting only to step forward in time together, but then Eddie slips his hand into Richie’s, laces their fingers together and tightly clasps his own palm with Richie’s much sweatier one, and tugs Richie closer to his side.

“Together,” Richie agrees, voice hoarse again; this time, though, on the edge of the quarry cliff, it’s different than it had been in the sewer. Before, it was because he lost his voice. Now, he feels like he’d never been louder.

* * *

They don’t talk about it that afternoon, in the water. Or that night, in the hotel. Or the next day, in the old clubhouse. They don’t talk about it until two full days pass, and the seven surviving members of the Losers Club — which is, blessedly, the whole group, but sometimes Richie likes to add  _ surviving _ just to remind himself they made it out alive — are circled around a few bottles of booze in the living room that, once upon a time, had belonged to Sonia Kaspbrak. 

(Richie did talk about it actually, just not with _ Eddie _ . Mike harassed him about it when they were all drying off, and Richie just told him some bullshit about  _ getting to it eventually, Mike _ . Bill was next, that night in the hotel, with a comment about being Eddie’s best friend — besides Richie himself — and knowing damn well that if he didn’t do something soon, they would both manage to die sad and alone. Richie flipped him off and walked away. Ben never got on him about it, but Stanley and Beverly tag-teamed him, scolding him for doing something that was,  _ ‘so beautiful and wonderful, and somehow, so stupid at the same time’ _ . He never got a chance to respond, because Eddie came rounding the corner only a moment or so later, but if he’d been able to, he would have fucked with Stanley so hard about the fact that  _ at least I fucking kissed him, fucker _ , and Beverly in any other way he could manage.)

It’s weird to be in Sonia Kaspbrak’s old living room. Not because it’d been so long, but because Richie didn’t often get to be there in their childhood. Bill could come over pretty frequently, and in later years, Ben too. Stanley struggled more, being Jewish, but Sonia would make the exception if Bill was also present. Mike and Beverly saw the inside of Eddie’s house exclusively through sneaking in when Sonia was at the store. And Richie?

When they were little,  _ really  _ little, Richie used to come over and play. Then middle school started, and Sonia started to hate Richie as if he was the reason Eddie preferred pink to blue or listened to ‘girly’ music — as if his fairy-ness was contagious — so Richie wasn’t really allowed over much at all. Eddie was his best friend, though, so he would sneak in through Eddie’s window and Sonia would pretend not to hear them upstairs.

But now, they’re 40. Richie is 40 years old. He doesn’t need to be afraid of Sonia Kaspbrak. She’s dead, for fuck’s sake, and still, somehow, being curled up in Eddie’s living room leaves the taste of metal and bile in the back of his throat. Maybe it’s because he still can’t say it out loud —  _ I’m gay  _ — and Sonia Kaspbrak’s insistence that gay people are  _ sick _ , the one kind of thing Eddie hates most in the world, doesn’t exactly help Richie’s case.

Bill takes a swig of the mango flavored vodka Beverly swiped from the store. (She might have been a world renowned fashion designer, but she’s in Derry and it's tradition to steal stuff from Greta Keene’s dad’s pharmacy.) He scrunches up his face a little in reaction, still just as capable at handling his liquor as he was back in middle school, and hands the bottle to Eddie.

Eddie sighs, but he’s grinning, and he snatches the bottle out of Bill’s hand. “Fine,” he snaps, the only evidence of a joke being the twist in his lips, and brings the drink up to his mouth. He tips his head back to let the liquor slide down his throat, and  _ yes _ , Richie _ is  _ mesmerized by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple and the tanned, freckled expanse of his neck stretching out to expose a thin white scar near his collarbone and-

“Richie,” Eddie says, voice cutting through the haze of  _ EddieEddieEddie _ from Richie’s monkey brain. “Drink.”

Richie hasn’t drank in a long time. Well, he used to drink a lot, back when he was younger and sadder and had a grasp on the fact that he was missing something. Then he turned 30-something, and he decided to back off the drinking, the drugs, the fucking faceless, nameless shadows on Tuesday nights just to feel something. When Mike called, he might have taken a few shots. To cope. And then, in Derry, when they all circled together that first night around some mediocre, white people Chinese food, he might have spent the night nursing a glass of wine. But Richie did his very best to stop drinking almost a decade ago, and two words from Eddie couldn’t turn him back.

But then he catches Eddie’s stare. The look Eddie gives him is so full of  _ something _ Richie doesn’t know the name of, and there, he decides, if there is one way he’d be happy to die by, it would be by drowning in the honey-brown pools of Eddie’s eyes.

Richie wraps his long fingers around the neck of the bottle, pinky pressed against Eddie’s index finger, and pulls it towards himself. He wonders if Beverly remembers what he told her during one of their late-night talks, how just the mention of drinking alcohol leaves a sour taste in Richie’s mouth as he is reminded of all the ways he fucked up in his life. All his shortcomings.  _ He didn’t even remember he was gay _ . Or maybe he did remember, but it lived deep in his subconscious, and somehow, only the taste of stale beer and lukewarm tequila would awaken that piece of him. Maybe that’s why he hated drinking. Because he was only  _ gay _ when he was drunk.

Beverly does seem to remember, because she rips the vodka out of Richie’s grasp. “No way, Tozier,” she scolds. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a fantastic and bubbly feeling in his chest at being remembered.

“Oh, come  _ on _ , Bev,” Richie tries to plead, but she shuts him down immediately.

Beverly hands the vodka to Ben, who, unlike the other Losers, seems entirely unfazed by Beverly’s reaction. Richie had a feeling Beverly would tell Ben everything. He doesn’t really care at all. “It’s been years,” she reminds him. “Years since it mattered. Don’t make it matter again.”

“Whatever,” Richie says. He’d let her win this time. “Just wanted to have some fun, Mom.”

“No you didn’t,” Beverly responds sharply, though not unkindly, and  _ maybe _ she’s right anyway.

The rest of the group all share the booze, taking sips from bottles in turn. Eddie doesn’t complain once about spreading germs or getting sick or malaria or anything. Richie almost misses the neurosis.

Once everyone is a little bit trashed, save for Richie, he turns on his own Netflix special so the group can roast him. They all tear apart every bit he performed, calling him out on how fucking  _ fake _ it all was. Mike, at some point, roars through his laughter, “I don’t think you’ve ever fucked a woman!”

And that is true. But Richie never told anyone he was gay. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, he couldn’t, not even to Beverly or Stanley, who’d known about his stupid crush on Eddie even back in middle school, when the word for  _ gay _ was  _ fag  _ and  _ queer _ and  _ fairy _ . (When Richie told Stanley, 14 years old and afraid of nothing more than losing the only people who loved all the parts of Richie,  _ I think I like Eddie _ , Stanley had responded,  _ It’s okay — I’m a fairy too _ . 26 years later, reunited again, Stanley told Richie one night,  _ You don’t have to say it out loud, Richie — I know. _ Neither time could Richie say the word _ gay _ .)

So how does Mike know?

Richie sucks in a breath that was supposed to be a laugh but sounded more like a gasp, and the Losers Club pause. “You okay?” Ben asks. He seems concerned, and  _ genuinely _ curious. Richie's surprised Beverly hadn’t told him this part too.

He nods. Mike puts a hand on Richie’s knee and says, “Hey, man, I was just joking around. I didn’t mean to-”

Mike trails off. He doesn’t know what nerve he’d struck. How could he? For 27 years, Richie wanted  _ no one  _ to know. He wouldn’t ever even admit it to  _ himself _ , even when he was making out with short, fiesty, brown-haired men in the shadowy corners of gay bars. Richie knows Mike meant no harm. Maybe that’s what hurts so much about it — it’s innocent, and yet, so true.

“It’s okay,” Richie says, voice hollow. Even in his own years, he sounds unfamiliar. “Don’t worry about it.”

He’s going to unpause the special —  _ Funny Guy by Richie Tozier _ — and leave the moment at that, pretend nothing ever happened and just forget about it, until he catches Beverly’s eye. Her face is blank, lips quirked just slightly down, and she blinks at him. To her left, Stanley is just as neutral, but his hands are pinching and pulling at his shirt in the way he does when he has something to say but wants to keep his mouth shut.

Stanley and Beverly know. Everyone probably knows, at least a little bit, since he kissed Eddie in the sewer. None of them had talked about it though. Even when Mike and Bill approached him about the kiss, never did they say,  _ Richie, you’re gay _ , or anything of the sort. They must have known. They were letting him have his moment — a moment he was never given anywhere else.

Richie’s arm is frozen, halfway lifted with the remote in hand. Beverly breaks eye contact, thus breaking Richie free from his trance. He clears his throat, and opens his hand, letting the remote fall to the table with a clatter. Eddie and Ben jump at the sudden noise, but the others all seem unfazed.

“I’m-” Richie tries, but the words seem to catch on his tongue.  _ I’m gay, _ he says in his head, testing the phrase out for size.  _ I’m gay _ , he thinks again, and maybe, third time’s the charm? “I’m g-gay,” he says finally, stuttering out like fucking  _ Bill _ used to. “Uh, like, men exclusively. Gay. Homosexual. I’m not attracted to any woman ever. Even Eddie’s mom, even though Sonia was definitely spank-bank material back in middle school-”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie gasps, scandalized. He is smiling, though. Like he’s proud. Even as he hits Richie’s arm, pushes him away like he doesn’t want Richie around, Eddie has this blinding grin on his face that makes everything feel okay.

Bill smiles at Richie too. All of them do, actually, but it’s Bill who sets his hand down on Richie’s elbow and says, “Thank you for telling us.”

What a fucking cheeseball. Fucking goober. Fucking  _ sap _ . How dare Bill make Richie’s moment cute? It’s Richie Tozier. Richie’s coming out story shouldn’t be all happy and wonderful and perfect. Richie doesn’t deserve something like that. (Just like he doesn’t deserve to kiss Eddie in the sewer, or to hold Eddie’s hand at the quarry, or to fall in love with his best friend; and Richie certainly doesn’t deserve to be loved in return.)

“Shut up,” Richie says, but there’s no heat, even as he shoves Bill’s arm away and ducks the other hands reaching out to hold him.

Mike, in his drunk and touchy-feely state, presses a wet kiss to Richie’s cheek. “I love you, Richard Tozier,” he says. 

Richie kisses his cheek back. “I love you too, Michael Hanlon,” he responds, patting the man’s face clumsily. “But get the fuck off me. I’m not gay for  _ you _ , Mikey.”

“Who are you gay for, then, Rich?” Ben asks cheerily.

Richie blushes a furious red. “No one, asshole. Okay, I came out, now leave me the fuck alone. Let’s just make fun of me some more, please.”

“No,” Beverly says, point blank. The Losers all laugh, save for Richie, who chokes out a gasp. “I love you. I’m proud of you. You stupid, wonderful, gay man.”

Richie snorts and takes a swig of the water bottle he’s been using to replace the burn of alcohol. “Alright, then. Get it out of your system. You have one minute.”

For a brief pause, no one speaks, until Bill blurts out, “Did you actually have a thing for Bowers’ cousin?” and all of a sudden,  _ everyone _ starts speaking.

All of their voices blend together.  _ Did you have a crush on anyone in high school? _ Yeah.  _ Who? _ None of your business.  _ Are the rumors about you and Neil Patrick Harris true? _ No. Why the fuck would they be? _ Are you dating anyone right now? _ No way.  _ Have you dated anyone? _ Nothing serious. Nothing that would last more than a few nights.  _ How long have you known? Did you ever like women? Have you told anyone else? Is this the first time you’re saying it out loud? _

But then, Richie picks out one particular question from the enclave of voices:

“Why did you kiss me?”

Richie laughs. “Seriously?” he asks Eddie, dumbfounded.

“Yeah,” Eddie responds. “Seriously. You - you weren’t - were you messing with me?”

Richie scoffs, shaking his head. He ignores the glare from Beverly as he catches it in his peripheral vision. “Why the fuck would I be messing with you, Eddie?”

“Richie, stop answering Eddie’s questions with more questions. Just tell him the fucking truth, asshole,” Stan demands with the roll of his eyes. Eddie huffs in agreement.

Richie pauses. He already said he was gay. He already  _ kissed _ Eddie, for God’s sake. He might as well just…

“I’ve been in love with you since the 7th grade,” Richie admits, and for the first time in his entire life, there is a weight that he didn’t even know existed lifted off his shoulders. “Since before It. It used my — my  _ crush _ , or whatever — um, against me. Especially this time. But both times, It’s shown me you, uh, dying. It’s like, the  _ thing _ . A recurring nightmare. Or whatever.”

Eddie freezes, and  _ yeah _ , that had Richie’s heart beating out of his chest and, consequently, crawling up his throat. He blinks owlishly at Richie as the whole room falls silent. It sounds like all the Losers are holding their breath, so as not to disturb the scene in front of them.

Eddie gulps. Richie wants to scream, to pull his own hair out and say,  _ Just kidding, haha! It was a joke! Funny, right? I’m hilarious! And totally not in love with you! _

But then Eddie, who’d already been sitting cross-legged next to Richie, shifts so that their knees were pressed up against each other. He sets his shaky hands on Richie’s leg, right above his kneecap, where a rip in his denim was making itself known. “You’re not just fucking with me right now, right? Because that would be really shitty if you were.”

“Dude,” Richie responds, exasperated. “Why the fuck would I do that to you?”

“‘Cause you’re kind of an asshole, Chee,” Eddie says. Richie’s heart flutters. When they were kids, Eddie called him  _ Chee _ late at night, during sleepovers that no one else was around for, or when Eddie was fighting with his mom and Richie was there to take care of him. It was Eddie’s only nickname for Richie besides insults. It always had Richie choking on air.

Richie laughs nervously. HeMs an asshole, but not  _ that _ kind of an asshole. But it had been decades. Richie couldn’t be mad that Eddie forgot the level of assholishness Richie actually carried himself with. Although, it didn’t seem like Eddie  _ completely _ forgot, because as soon as Richie confirms that  _ no, I’m not fucking with you _ , Eddie moves his warm hands — which had doubled in size since they were kids, holy shit — up to Richie’s blushing face, and pulls him in closer.

_ Wow. _ Kissing Eddie when they’re both conscious and safe and, you know,  _ not _ in the midst of trying to kill a fucking clown is actually kind of amazing. If kissing Eddie back in the sewer was awesome,  _ this _ is unmentionably perfect. There are no words Richie can think of to describe how it feels to be mouth-on-mouth and skin-on-skin with Eddie Kaspbrak. In fact, all Richie hears himself thinking is along the lines of,  _ Fuck yeah! _

When Eddie pulls away, a trail of spit keeps them connected. Richie thinks Eddie might deem it gross, and the old Eddie probably would have, but this Eddie — this new and grown up Eddie with big-hands and a chiseled jaw and fucking _ biceps _ — instead seems to flush a deep red despite the grossness he once attributed to  _ kissing. _

“Um,” Richie says dumbly. “Was that - like, did you mean - are you-”

“Oh my fucking  _ God _ , Richie,” Beverly cuts in, voice shrill in a way it only ever seemed to be when she wanted to punch Richie in the face. “He kissed you! What the fuck do you  _ think _ it means?”

Richie would have been offended, maybe even a little annoyed by Beverly’s involvement in the Richie/Eddie kiss, but Eddie laughs. Richie can’t even  _ pretend _ to be pissed off at anything that had Eddie scrunching up his nose and tipping his head forward and throwing his arms back, just like he used to when they were kids.

Richie grabs Eddie’s face, a little more confident this time. When he pulls away, guts twisted and tied up into a million little knots, butterflies fluttering in the weeds of his feelings for Eddie, he sucks in a breath. Eddie. He thinks about the deadlights, how air was stale in the moments Eddie felt dead; he thinks about his missing 27 years, how there was a gaping hole that Richie had thought must have been a part of him, how Richie started to believe that he would always be half-finished, half-full, half-alive; he thinks about middle school, back during the summer of 1989, how he shielded Eddie from those foot long claws It pointed at them, how he would do it all over again if he had the chance. Eddie is in his arms. Eddie is right in front of him, breathing, alive,  _ okay _ . Eddie is a part of him, filling up all the empty spaces in Richie in a way no faceless, nameless, shadow people ever could have. Eddie is there, and  _ Richie is in love with Eddie _ , and whenever Richie is in love with Eddie, a world that was once off balance is then corrected, sitting perfectly on its axis.

Sometimes, Richie feels like Eddie could peel the stars out of the night sky, and Richie would let him. Eddie could rip him apart, ruin his life, whatever, and in the end, Richie would always —  _ always _ — stand by and watch it happen. He would let Eddie get away with anything if it meant he got to see Eddie grin one more time. Maybe that’s unhealthy, but Richie doesn’t have the time to give a shit. Fate or God or whatever gave him three chances, and he wouldn’t get another one. Richie would be damned if he ever lost Eddie again.

“I’m in love with you,” Richie says, more unafraid than ever before. “I always have been. I think I always will be. Tell me that’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me,” Eddie responds weakly, looking dazed and a little far away. “I’m in love with you too.”

Eddie could peel the stars out of the night sky, and  _ fuck _ , would Richie be happy to let him do it. The weeds in Richie’s stomach — which had bloomed from Richie feeling  _ so much _ and never being able to do anything about it — suddenly wilt, and in an instant, sprout flowers in their wake. Richie is 40 years old. He spent 27 years of his life living in fear of a monster he couldn’t remember, and for all those years, he was half-built, a stained-glass variation of who he used to be. All he ever was was in love with Eddie. It’s all he ever wanted to be.

_ You’re the only one out there for me, Eds _ , he wants to say.  _ When I look at you, I see everything. _

Instead, he lets Eddie pull him in for another kiss, a third (technically fourth) kiss, that has Richie just as dizzy and starstruck as the rest. Distantly, the Losers Club can be heard cheering, but all that stands in the foreground of Richie’s mind is Eddie, and how Richie is 40 years old and is in love with Eddie Kaspbrak, has been for the past 30, and he doesn’t give a shit about anything other than how whole Richie finally feels after all this time of being so empty he couldn’t see past his coke-bottle glasses. Richie never thought he’d get a happy ending; he was sick, Eddie couldn’t be sick too, Eddie  _ wouldn’t _ be — Richie was sure he would die, sick and alone and so painfully in love with Eddie Kaspbrak.

But here he is.  _ I’m in love with you too _ echoes in Richie’s head, bouncing around the walls of his skull, Eddie’s voice warm enough that Richie is tempted to tattoo those words along his own pale, broken skin. When he opens his eyes, he sees Eddie, and he remembers everything all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

hey guys! this is not an update. sorry for playing with your feelings if you expected it to be.

i know that fanfiction is supposed to be a safe place, away from the horrible reality that we live in. i know. you can skip this chapter if you want. i can't stop you. and while i don't have much of a platform on ao3 - i'm by no means a popular author, but my fics do moderately well - i do know someone, somewhere, is going to read this. and hopefully, i can educate you on something i really, really care about in the aftermath of something that really pissed me off.

so _somebody_ posted some shady shit today and i wanna take this as an opportunity to remind **non-black people** of some key things.

1\. Black lives matter. always. unconditionally. in every city, state, country, you live in. in every language you speak. in every circumstance.** Black lives matter.**

2\. believing that Black lives matter doesn't mean shit if you're not having all the provocative conversations you can have. i'm not saying pick a fight with your abusive parents, obviously, but every day you should take every opportunity possible to educate someone. tweet something. post on instagram. have a tough conversation with someone that said something hurtful. i know it's hard to sit your mom down and tell her it's fucked up when she says blue lives matter, but imagine how the world feels for Black people. 

3\. educate yourself. the movement is not over until Black people are safe. sign a petition, go to a protest, donate to a gofundme, do something, anything. 

* * *

if you're like me, youtube is your favorite resource for education. here are some great informative and helpful videos.

_ **LAST WEEK TONIGHT WITH JOHN OLIVER** _

**Ferguson, MO, and Police Militarization** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUdHIatS36A>

**Police Accountability ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaD84DTGULo>

**Police ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wf4cea5oObY>

_ **JADA JONES** _

**want to be educated? this is the video for you...** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKGkXoF60Ik>

** _THE DAILY SHOW WITH TREVOR NOAH_ **

**America Protests Police Brutality and Systemic Racism ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YknhztcrURY>

_ **PATRIOT ACT WITH HASAN** _ ** MINHAJ**

**We Cannot Stay Silent About George Floyd ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_FE78X-qdY>

_ **TEDX TALKS ** _

**Eliminating Microaggressions: The Next Level of Inclusion (Tiffany Alvoid)** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPqVit6TJjw>

**50 years of racism - why silence isn't the answer (James A. White Sr.) ** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9DDE7NV1Nw>

_ **ROB BLISS** _

**Holding A Black Lives Matter Sign in America's Most Racist Town** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltmlvk9GAto>

and in my opinion, the most heart wrenching one:

_ **GREAT BIG STORY** _

**Black Lives Matter Protests Around the World** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Vl4I0weXPU>

* * *

hopefully that moved you. if it didn't, i have nothing to say to you. if it did, here are some ways you can help.

<https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/>

> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#petitions>
> 
> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#donate>
> 
> <https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#text>

[https://blacklivesmatter.com/resources/](https://blacklivesmatter.com/resources/?__cf_chl_jschl_tk__=a1ac1fa6f7f8b0a72a857a03f3b8105739500096-1599100124-0-AZTNFo8Cfx0fa3opjRHvoVtq4jxSoPuD_ADm5PUPui_-dUNRaSRV0zEdUs3Htyia-cTVITPP_CGmJaxRqn3TJnOaPUe8o2-L6jO406RTGIKG5CzXCn9WjEVXn1o_iz_93rMGLMXz2__VRpC0G7DfJiJHRILzQF3oUk2x3RkjWSV66NUnzfZ3bWJzMxyhh9E5R2IuQbPFWB2wI5mGP4YMcY8u4FDAWxTejgAYiUICsahlo5OcgAMYw91nOoZpz6to4Cv7eh_nfVehfzdhZKiG0AzF8sIXcY0UKETdaU-LstacqHmA4qIvJd1VFS_-7C6kRXtwiOVnOx6OFWwZh7JAtaMr-kMDv3DAknireXggns_5)

<https://www.manrepeller.com/2020/06/black-lives-matter-resources.html>

<https://docs.google.com/document/u/1/d/1yxj0kSC2-LzINUlfNMEV_Qi-7ZtWCTLSua3Z-9XFNqA/mobilebasic>

* * *

and here are the names you cannot forget.

<https://sayevery.name/>

* * *

the world is a big scary place, but it's even scarier when you're at risk of being murdered with no justice for the color of your skin. now is not the time to stay silent. if you are not Black, you are obligated to stand up for the Black community. your whiteness could save somebody's life.

> When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would always say to me, _Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping._
> 
> \- Fred Rogers

now is the time for you to be a helper.

change starts with us.

**Author's Note:**

> but anyways yall remember how in it chapter 1 the primary interaction we see with richie and it/pennywise is the clown room thing, where he sees himself dead (representative of himself going missing and no one caring/knowing, similar to the gay men around this same time going missing and their cases being purposefully left unsolved due to their sexualities) and then immediately after he sees eddie being “sick” in a bed, because the sexual feelings richie feels is "sick" in the same way? internalized homophobia runs DEEP, babey! stan my gay son, richie tozier :)
> 
> TUMBLR shazameroos.tumblr.com
> 
> be friends w me! pls :))))


End file.
